


Say You Won't Let Go

by notabadday



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:33:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabadday/pseuds/notabadday
Summary: A post-ep for 4x08, in which Fitz drinks a little too much and perhaps says a little too much. Total fluff.
  They’re the last ones left up. Coulson and May disappeared early for whispered talks and special secrets. Mack and Yo-Yo slipped away with a vague, unconvincing excuse. Daisy had stayed a while longer, enjoying the company of old friends for a while before third wheel status set in and she made a quiet exit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired partly by a Josh and Donna scene I love from The West Wing.

“I think you might’ve had one too many, hey,” Jemma says, her voice soft and soothing and perhaps more sympathetic than Fitz deserves as he lies sprawled out across the communal couch, only half-conscious.

 They’re the last ones left up. Coulson and May disappeared early for whispered talks and special secrets. Mack and Yo-Yo slipped away with a vague, unconvincing excuse. Daisy had stayed a while longer, enjoying the company of old friends for a while before third wheel status set in and she made a quiet exit.

 “I can drink with the best of ‘em, Jemma,” Fitz slurs gruffly.

 She lifts his limp arm around her neck to pull him to his feet, replying, “You can’t drink with any of them, Fitz.”

 She struggles a little under the weight of him, shifting to find the easiest position before starting to carry her drunken boyfriend back towards their room. One hand sits on his side, pulling him tight against her, while the other hand rests affectionately on his chest to hold him steady. He proves a hefty lump but after a few steps, they find their stride.

 “I can hold my liquor!” He misjudges the volume.

 “No, you can’t,” she argues, a smile pulling at her lips. “You have a very sensitive system.”

 “Don’t tell people that.”

 “You do. Mace has given us the weekend, and now you’ll spend it sleeping off these beers instead of making sweet, sweet science with me.”

 Fitz lets out a low moan before replying, his phrasing lazy as his trademark accent weighs heavily on his mumbled response. “Jemma… Jem… I’ve… I have… made some bad choices.”

 “I know, I know.”

 “Why aren’t you drunk? You drank. You had drinks.”

She laughs at the comical outrage on his face as they stop to allow her to unlock their door. “I guess I can just hold my drink.” She lets that sit for a beat, before adding, “And I ate before. Packed a sandwich for the ride back. Preparation is key, Fitz.”

 “There was once a time when you used to make me sandwiches…” he says in a melodramatically wistful tone, stumbling free from Jemma’s grasp to crash out on their bed.

 She delivers an almighty eye roll. “I told you before we went. I remember saying quite specifically, ‘Fitz, remember to pack yourself a sandwich.’ And you said, ‘Will do, Jem.’”

 Fitz moans again in lieu of a verbal response.

 He’s lying flat on the bed, looking at Jemma with an intense, hard-fought focus on his face. There’s something charmingly open about his expression; it brings her to perch on the edge of the bed, looking over him with a requiting look of deep affection.

 Jemma gently brushes a hand through his hair as he starts to close his eyes. He looks so lovely, her Fitz, that she can’t help but leave a soft, wet on his cheek.

 “I’ll get you some water before you fall asleep.”

 “Don’t go,” he replies, a little more alert all of a sudden. Fitz reaches out to pull her further into the bed. “Don’t leave me.”

 “I’m just getting some water for you.”

 “Jemma…”

 His arms go limp but his voice pulls her closer.

 “I’m not going far.” She places a chaste kiss to his lips to punctuate her sentence, before adding, “I’ll be back in two minutes.”

 By the time Jemma returns, he’s gone from fully dressed to boxers and a t-shirt. Given his inebriated state, she finds it a little impressive – though his laundry has not yet completed its journey to the laundry basket.

 Jemma walks back over to the bed, the SHIELD-branded bottle of water in her hand, and crouches by Fitz’s side. “Here you go.”

 He accepts it wordlessly and gulps some of the water down before using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. As soon as he’s handed her back the half-empty water bottle, his head crashes abruptly back down against the pillow. Eyes closed, he starts contentedly mumbling, “You, you’re… you’re the best, Jemma…”

 She smiles to herself; she can’t help it. He’s tucked himself up, serene and cute and just drunk enough that his inhibitions are down.

 “I mean it,” he argues, dragging out the vowels. “You won’t listen but I mean it. I don’t think I ever liked a person until I met you. And I like… I _love_ you.”

 “I know you do,” she says warmly, feeding his half-conscious little ramble.

 “Do you?” he replies, eyes suddenly opening. “Do you know how much?”

 “I think so.”

 Fitz gives a nasal laugh. There's a broad, close-lipped smile sitting across his face. “It’s so bad.”

 “That’s not bad.”

 “I think it is,” he slurs. “It’s quite a lot. I think it’s more than probably anyone but I… I don’t know. Maybe there are other people. I don’t think so. I don’t think people do the things we do very often… But maybe we should be more like other people…”

 “Fitz, what _are_ you talking about?” Jemma says, still grinning down at him with captivated confusion.

 He catches her giggles, laughing along with her but with a drunken detachment from the joke. “I think there should be a wedding,” he explains, with a tone that would suggest he’d been clearly and obviously building to this revelation with singular direction.

 “You hate weddings.”

 “I do! I hate them!” he agrees enthusiastically, shaking his head now. “But it’s been so long already… and we should… we should be married. I know I’m been drinking stuff… but… it’s definitely… We should.”

 “I think you need to go to sleep now, babe.”

 He moans his agreement and shifts under the sheets like a child at bedtime getting himself comfortable for a bedtime story. Jemma lifts him ever so slightly, moving him until she feels sure he’ll be okay if he gets sick in the night.

 Once she’s sure Fitz has fallen asleep, she quickly throws Fitz’s clothes into the laundry basket and changes into her pajamas. Jemma wastes no time before cuddling up to him in the bed, providing the big spoon so that Fitz can face out of the bed. Practical as ever.

 She cozies up against his back with her arms wrapped around his front; he’s cuddled against her, held preciously like a favorite stuffed toy that she’d never sleep without.

 “We’ll have a wedding,” she sighs, assured and content. “We’ll get all dressed up. You’ll squirm and I’ll smile. And then we’ll honeymoon at home.”

 Before long, Jemma’s asleep too.


End file.
